


Heavy In Your Arms

by helpme_iminlove



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, idk how else to tag this tbh, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:09:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpme_iminlove/pseuds/helpme_iminlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew he would eventually have to face the consequences. He knew she would bring it up one night, she would want to fight about it, because he knew he was breaking her heart every damn time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I finished Daredevil season 2 last night and have been on a Kastle binge ever since and this ship is killing me and I had to write SOMETHING and this angsty thing is what came out because I'm super emo. I hope you like it! If you do, please let me know in the comments! If this gets enough hits and kudos and all that, I might make it into a series? I'm not sure yet, but I have ideas, so if you like this, I might keep going :)

The first time him and Karen ever had sex, it was purely by accident. 

He never meant to fall for anyone else for the rest of his life, never meant to fall into someone else’s bed, because he had to honor Maria, for she was his last and only love.

At least, that’s what he had told himself. 

But one night as he’s sitting in Karen’s apartment, yellow lights from the world below shining on the ceiling, cars rumbling by, and her steady breath hitting his face ever so softly as she steadily stitched up a gash on his eyebrow for what seemed like the hundredth time, he couldn’t help himself. Her hair just looked so damn soft, and her professional clothes were just so damn tight as she walked around fretting over him, and he just couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and pulling her in for a kiss. 

He classified that as an accident. 

And then it happened again. And again. And again. All accidents, he told himself, because if they were more than that he would stay in her bed in the mornings rather than going out the fire escape. He knew he would eventually have to face the consequences. He knew she would bring it up one night, she would want to fight about it, because he knew he was breaking her heart every damn time. And not surprisingly, she asked him about it the very next time she saw him.

He was exhausted out of his mind and she knew it, but when else would they see each other? They didn’t go on cute little dates where they ate sushi and talked about mundane crap. They didn’t get that luxury. 

No, what they got was darkness and blood and fucking, not making love, and he knew that Karen wanted it to be love, but he just couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t. Not yet. He hoped that one day he could, and he knew that with every passing second he moved on from his little dead family.

And that’s what he didn’t want. 

He couldn’t forget about Lisa and Frank Jr. and Maria, because the second he forgot them, he was lost. He was nothing. 

Karen was quiet when she asked, but it was filled with rage and so many other emotions as she packed up the first aid kit on the counter. 

“What is this Frank?”

He had stopped moving, stopped breathing when she said this into the deafening roar of silence that stretched across the room.

“I mean,” she was frustrated, he could tell, because she just want to say it, to ask him, and she couldn’t. “I mean- what am I, what are we, Frank. Because it sure as hell feels like I’m just some nurse that you’ll sleep with.”

This made him angry. It pissed him off so much that she could think this lowly about herself when she had done so much for him. The regret he felt for ever kissing her in the first place was greater than the regret he felt for a lot more worse things he had done. 

He couldn’t stop himself from going up to her and grabbing her shoulders, forcing her to look deeply into his eyes.

“Karen, you have to know, this isn’t about you,” he said fiercely, and she actually looked scared of him. He ignored the fear in her eyes.

“It’s not about you, and you know it.” He released his grip on her fragile shoulders, watching as his bruised hands moved away from the pale flesh at her collarbone. He caught a glimpse of pink and purple there, where he had left a love bite, a bruise, only the night before. He looked away from her.

“It’s Maria, isn’t it,” Karen whispered, and he didn’t nod but they both knew it was true. He waited with baited breath for what she would say next. Moments passed, and they were frozen in the dark apartment like people in a snow globe. This moment was frozen forever in the timeline of their lives, etched into the walls of their minds and scraped into the floorboards of what was supposed to be Karen’s safehaven. And he was so damn sorry. He really was.

“You should go,” Karen said, voice breaking, and she went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her without another word or glance. 

That night, he was gonna go on a fucking rampage.

He was just so mad, so, so mad, about everything, all of it, every single second of his shit life. His family, Blacksmith, Hell’s Kitchen, Karen, he was just so angry at all of it, that it had happened to him, that he was the one that had to suffer every single damn day of his life because of everything that happened to him and that kept happening to him, all the time. He had been working on a certain drug lord for a while and that night he wasn’t going to wait patiently anymore. He was ready to go, guns loaded, white skull brandished across his chest, and he was gonna fucking kill them all because he had to do something to stop feeling, to stop thinking.

He was on the roof across the street from the train station, and he could see them all standing around, loading girls into a train car, and he knew that the poor girls had swallowed at least ten little bags of their fucking drugs and he was gonna kill them- 

But then someone was grabbing his shoulder and turning him around, and of course it was the fucking Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, there to serve him some more shit. Daredevil swung at his jaw and landed, knocking his face to the side and then he was being hauled up close to the vigilante’s face by his jacket. Surprisingly, he didn’t fight back. 

“What’d I do this time, Red? I haven’t even killed anyone yet,” He slurred between the blood coming from a tooth Daredevil had knocked loose. 

The fists in his jacket tightened and pulled him closer to the devil’s face.

“Leave Karen Page alone,” growled the man, and this simple statement snapped Frank to his senses and he punched the fucker right in his eye. This got him free from Daredevil’s grasp and also gave him the upper hand, hauling Red up from where he had knocked him onto the ground.

“How the hell do you know about me and Karen?!” He raged into the red face before him, and if he was angry before, he’s fucking livid now. Daredevil threw another punch at Frank’s face, knocking him back once again, but he didn’t rush at him. Instead they both stood there, panting, looking at each other, waiting for the other man to say something first.

Red beat him to the punch, “Karen Page is my friend. I like to keep tabs on my friends.”

“So what the hell does that have to do with me?” Frank yelled and caused Red to raise his voice as well.

“It has everything to do with you, and you know it,” said Red, voice intense and trying not to become too loud or else they might alert the drug dealers across the street. Frank couldn’t stop the bitter chuckle from escaping past his lips. 

“Yeah, you know what, Red, you’re right, it does have everything to do with me, but that doesn’t make it any of your goddam concern-”

“Yes, it does!” Roared the vigilante, silencing Frank.

“You’re hurting her, Frank! I heard you, earlier as I was checking in on her, and I also stuck around long enough to hear her crying in the bathroom because of you, and that most definitely makes it my concern.”

Frank couldn’t believe that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was lecturing him about feelings, of all things. 

He was quiet when he finally spoke. “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean to hurt her. I never meant to hurt her.”

At this he looks into red eyes, hoping that the man in front of him will somehow understand that he’s telling the truth. 

Daredevil takes a step towards him and he tenses up, ready for another punch that doesn’t come. 

“Then go back to her apartment, and fix it,” says the vigilante fiercely and Frank couldn’t have been more surprised. He thought he was going to threaten him, say that he should stay away from Karen forever. 

Daredevil straightens up once again, and lets out a breath. 

“I can take care of these guys. Go.”

So Frank does, reluctantly.

The anger and adrenaline he feels is probably going to come out someway, somehow, and he might end up hurting Karen, so he tries to calm himself before he knocks on her front door. So although the anger sits in the middle of his chest, he manages to get himself in check before she opens the door slowly. 

One look at her red-rimmed blue eyes, and the anger in his chest shatters. He can see the anger in her chest shatter at the same time. He steps inside and she closes the door, the air heavy, baited, waiting. The walls seemed to lean in questioningly, the couch slouching in wonder, the floorboards listening for what will happen, what they will say. This apartment knows their whole story better than they do themselves. Frank swears he can hear all the sirens in New York go quiet as he slowly brings a bruised hand up to the side of Karen’s face, her lovely, lovely face, and he is so sorry for all he has done to hurt her, he really is, and he doesn’t know if he says this, but he thinks he did because their lips come together in a crash but then it’s soft, soft like it’s never been before, and he thinks he can taste the saltiness of tears between their mouths, and his other hand runs through her beautiful blonde hair and her hands grip at his shoulders, pulling him closer and he sends a prayer up to Maria, an apology, even though he knows deep down that she is happy for him, wherever she is, and this simple thought as he carries Karen into her room is enough to make him crumble, and suddenly he’s a mess, crying just as much as her, lying tangled together on her unmade bed, and they don’t, they can’t have sex this time, because this right here, this intimacy of crying on the shoulder of someone else, the vulnerability, this is making love and Frank recognizes it and it reminds him of how he used to feel Before and he can almost see the light of happiness glimmering in the shine of her golden locks of hair as they strip down out of their clothes, not because of lust but because the simple thought of not being close is enough to make them both mad, and it’s too much, it’s too much, but it's perfect because it’s them, it’s not The Punisher, it’s not Karen Page the Journalist, it’s not Maria, and it’s everything Frank has been wanting for so long and he didn’t even know it. Frank never thought he could have this again, never thought he deserved it, but the way that Karen looks at him- he knows that he’s been wrong the entire time. 

They fall asleep, his head on her chest, clutching at her sides, and her fingers card through his hair as she looks out of her window until she falls asleep, her breathing matching his, and she can’t help but remember the diner from so long ago, when he had told her that the people that can hurt you the most are the ones closest to you, and he had been so right, and she couldn’t help but be thankful that he was close enough to hurt her. It was worth it.


End file.
